Her Compromise
by afraidtobelieve
Summary: "He didn't just exist to her. He pierced right through her mind, body, and soul, demanded her attention whether she was willing to give it or not. He was raping her before he ever set foot into her home. It's different this time." Post-finale.
1. Chapter 1

Hello, all. Alright, here's my contribution to the multitude of post-Her Negotiation fics that I'm sure have been gracing this fine website for the past several weeks. I hope my version does the storyline justice. I have no beta, so I apologize in advance for any and all errors that you may find (please feel free to inform me of said errors if you please). Anyway, I hope you all are having a lovely summer; now on to the story.

XO, E

*Disclaimer* They're not mine, they belong entirely to Mr. Wolf, yada yada yada...

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It's different this time.

She can't decide if she's more terrified now, or if she's just waiting for everything to end. She's spent the better part of the last decade of her life in a strange state of numbness, and only recently has she regained her ability to feel things like contentment, reverence, love. It felt so good.

But then, with the way her life has turned out, she should have been more diligent in waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because how long could she have possibly continued like this before devastation came crashing into her life once more? It has only been two years, she knows.

And now this. Him.

He isn't like most of the perps she's dealt with in the past. They're all psychopaths on one level or another, sure, but this one ignited a whole new level of terror inside of her from the moment she set eyes on him. He didn't just exist to her. He pierced right through her mind, body, and soul, demanded her attention whether she was willing to give it or not. He was raping her before he ever set foot into her home.

It's different this time.

A flash of orange. The rattle of a nightstick against prison bars. She remembers it all in quick bursts emerging from deep within her memory, crawling up through dirty cracks that she has tried to patch a thousand times over. But cracks don't heal. No matter how many times she fills them in or builds on top of them, the right amount of pressure will always break her attempts at reparation. Sometimes disintegrate them altogether. She thinks maybe this time it will open up and swallow her completely, but not before she hits rock bottom.

"Welcome home, Olivia."

She wasn't particularly used to Cassidy surprising her after a long day at work, but it wasn't necessarily out of the question, either. For this reason, she didn't think twice when she noticed her emergency key wasn't where she normally kept it, just slightly off center beneath her welcome mat. A bit of an obsessive tendency for some, but those are the types of things that alert her when something's off. Should have alerted her, her mind supplies. It doesn't make a difference at this point anyway.

It has occurred to her, in recent years at least, that her funeral will be an absolute nightmare for the few who attend. She can count those people on one hand, which wouldn't bother her too much, except that the number has diminished over time. She has lost people so completely that they will not even attend her funeral. Her power of attorney is her boss, and her possessions will go to the squad or charity. She has no base, no foundation. Maybe that is why she cracks so easily.

"Alright, Detective Benson. We can do this one of two ways."

His voice is all business, but his eyes flash with anticipation. He's been getting off on this since the moment the idea popped into his head, she knows. She is also aware that with each breath and with each inch closing in before they reach her bed, the probability of her survival grows slimmer. She had not realistically considered that this could happen again. But then, karma has never been on her side of these things.

"You are going to start out on your back. You can see me, and more importantly, I can see you. But if you scream, or signal, or fucking breathe in a way that I don't like, we're going to have some problems, alright?" His breath is putrid, the healing scabs of his fingertips chafe and bruise her upper arm as his gun digs into her temple. They have reached her bed, and she hasn't spoken, cannot even fathom a way out of this. She tries not to hate her captain for the two day vacation. It could be two days of this, she thinks. Maybe shorter, depending on how generous her visitor is feeling.

A lit lamp reveals the wire, not rope, she notices, placed on her bed. Next to it are his tools of choice: various metal objects, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter. He came prepared. She tries to mask the whimper that threatens to reveal her true terror, but in that moment she is absolutely certain of one thing. She won't last two days. She won't last any longer than he leaves that gun within her reach. Regardless of which one of them dies first, she refuses to go down without a fight.

She tries to reason with him. If she doesn't get out of this, at least she'll know that she did absolutely everything she could. Because that's what really bothered her last time. No matter how she screamed or hid or bargained, there was no doubt in her mind that there must have been Something Else. Something more that could have saved her. _What happened in the basement?_ Not a whole lot on her part, her mind loves to remind her.

"Lewis. Please. Can we talk about this?" Her voice wavers as she stares down her own bed.

"Why talk now? We'll have plenty of time to get acquainted in a few minutes. Now strip."

She did not know this. That he made his victims undress themselves while he watched. It's psychological torture in its worst form and she cannot comprehend how this could have happened to her. She'd stopped asking why years ago. There is no justice in "why." How is a little more even, easier to accept. But at this point it is all semantics.

A shove from behind. She begins to unbutton her blouse.

"Yeah. You're a hot bitch. This is going to be fun."

And the tears start to fall.

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Alrighty, folks, that's it for now. I have the next chapter or so written and will be posting it soon. As always, reviews are magical entities that make me write faster. Obviously. No really please let me know what you think, constructive criticism is the best criticism. Adios.x


	2. Chapter 2

Hello, all. I just want to thank you all so much for the tremendous response my first chapter received. Really and truly, your thoughts and criticisms are invaluable to me. I am definitely trying to make the chapters longer, although my efforts were not entirely successful in this installment. I promise I'm trying! Alright, here's chapter two. Hope you all enjoy.

XO, E

*Disclaimer*: Second verse, same as the first. They're still Mr. Wolf's...

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Something was off.

He could feel it in his bones, a deeply unsettling restlessness that the alcohol should have numbed hours ago. But it was still there, nagging at his subconscious, which was why he was still buying rounds for his partner and himself despite the late hour. _I'm gettin' too old for this shit._ He'd meant to keep that thought to himself, but it still managed to escape and reach the ears of his drinking companion.

"Psh, you don't need to tell me that." His partner had a way of making him feel better, with her glib remarks and easy demeanor. But she was also pretty damn good at reading people, especially him, even in their still-infantile partnership. He was grateful that she waded slowly into the murky waters of his mind.

"You wanna tell me what's bothering you, partner? 'Cause I gotta say, you're no good for conversation tonight and your old mug ain't much to look at, so I'm about ready to ditch you for the bartender."

"You just try that. He's too old for you and I don't feel like beatin' on nobody's ass tonight, alright?"

"I got news for you, old man. You're not exactly a spring chicken yourself. Honestly, Fin, what's up?" She stared him down while he contemplated his answer.

"Amanda, when you brought Lewis in. What made you so sure he was bad? What about him just set off warning bells in your head?"

She looked away, picked at the label on her Coors, contemplated how best to answer a question that she wasn't entirely sure of herself.

"I keep telling myself it was pure gut instincts, but then I think he must've done something, said something, that sent up the red flags in my mind. But I can't think of anything. I talked to him and just couldn't shake this feeling that something was just….wrong. You know?" Yes. Yes, he knew. And he was debating how to expel that restless nagging feeling without scaring the shit out of her. So he just nodded.

"Why?" She may be slightly intoxicated, but she can tell when a line of questioning is meant to be leading somewhere.

He shrugs.

"I just feel like something's off, and I can't shake it. I just know something feels very wrong right now and I can't figure out why." He feels like he might be overreacting, but his instincts are almost never off and he hasn't talked to anyone other than Rollins in the last few hours.

"You wanna call Ken, let him talk you into feelin' better?"

He hesitates, because it is a damn good idea, but his skin is still crawling and he generally tries to keep his job as far away from his son as possible. The feeling in his bones is growing more substantial, gaining momentum. He feels like if he doesn't figure this out soon, the pressure will reach a fever pitch and implode on itself before he ever gets a chance to fix it.

"No. I gotta figure out what's going on. Somethin' ain't right, Amanda."

Because her partner's instincts are almost always spot-on, she acquiesces, pulling out her phone and opening up her contacts.

"Alright, Fin. Who should I call?"

They start with Munch because they know he'll talk the longest, and knowing Munch is okay will help calm his nerves. They move on to Cragen, because they're not quite sure what he does in his free time and because his conversations are always brief and to the point. Amaro is quick and a bit dismissive, but they both hear kids in the background so they easily forgive him. She's searching for Benson's number when her partner bumps her shoulder lightly.

"Alright, Rollins. You doin' okay?" She rolls her eyes and refuses to give him the satisfaction of eye contact. "What? I don't get points for lookin' out for my partner?"

"You're getting me drunk on a Saturday night."

"Yeah, and I'm lookin' out for you. I'ma see you get home safe tonight, aren't I?"

"Well." And that's as far as she gets before she turns to face him.

"Fin, Olivia isn't answering. I've dialed twice already."

Alright. Ok. He takes a deep breath before responding, because his nerve endings are buzzing and his stomach has been in knots for the past hour.

"Okay, I gotta go over there. Make sure she's alright." He stumbles as he rises from the barstool, the alcohol somehow affecting his motor skills before his nerves. Rollins moves to help stabilize him and finds that she is actually more alert than she had anticipated. Good. One of them has to be reasonable.

"Fin, we are both going to check on Olivia. Then, when we discover that we've accidentally interrupted her and Cassidy's date night, I'm going to take you home, embarrassed but relieved. Okay?" At his nod, they pay and walk out into the warm May night in search of her car.

The air was calm, but he could feel the earth thrumming with energy. He could sense a storm coming in its slow but sure approach, rolling ever closer to the city. When the skies open up, the torrents will reign over the city for as long as it takes to eradicate the contamination, from the highest skyscrapers to the deepest cracks in the earth.

They are five blocks from her apartment before he truly begins to worry. She never goes this long without responding to his calls and he is aware of the lack of security in her building. She may be a cop, but there have been some extremely close calls in that apartment of hers over the years.

"How do you want to do this?" Rollins asks, mostly out of courtesy, because he really doesn't seem to be in any condition to be making major decisions at this point. She has only known him for a few years, but she knows he never gets this wound up unless there is a damn good reason for it.

He tries to maintain his composure, at least for her sake.

"Let's both go up there, but how about I stay around the corner while you knock, just in case it really is just her and Cassidy?" Good. A plan. A more solid plan than he had hoped to be able to articulate at this point.

"Okay." She parks the cruiser and they both head towards Olivia's building.

He feels the air pressure shifting, the heat and humidity disappearing. Nature, it seems, is ready for the storm. He may not be prepared, but he is hell bent on surviving.

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Okay, the next chapter is in the works and should be up in a day or two. Also, for those of you who read my other story, I promise I am working on a fourth chapter for that as well (I just lost my muse for that story for a ridiculously long time, sorry). Adios!


	3. Chapter 3

Hello, all. Here is the third chapter, hope you enjoy. There are references to the episode Undercover in this chapter (I should have put that in the author's note from Chapter 1, too...oops). As a side note, Go Blackhawks!

XO, E

*Disclaimer:* Maybe if I gave NBC like, a REALLY big cookie...nope, still not mine.

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She used to believe she could change.

In the beginning, the job started out as a means to an end of finally getting justice for her mother, maybe making amends for all of the devastation she knows she caused. But those days are long gone. The only justice her father saw was the knowledge of her existence, although she's not sure if it had any effect on him at all. She longs for her younger self, the one that believed she could stop when her mother's case was finally closed. She has since realized that the job is more a part of her than anything else she has ever experienced and she will never be able to walk away, regardless of the consequences.

She has been living with that realization for years now. She knows she is fighting a war in which there are very few battles to win. Her armor is tainted and worn, disintegrating with the passage of time.

Silent tears stain her cheeks as shaking hands continue to unbutton her blouse. _I only need one chance,_ she thinks. _Just one_. Rolling thunder absorbs her thoughts, and she wonders if Something up there hears her. She doesn't identify with any religion, but she prays, sometimes. Whether or not it has actually helped is another story altogether, but it gives her hope. And sometimes that is all she really needs.

"We've got all the time in the world, sweetheart, so you can move as slowly as you like. Just remember, every action has a consequence." His voice is a rasping whisper in her ear, calm and unhurried. It occurs to her that his victims are far more numerous than the ones that they have already uncovered, because this type of psychopath is not formed overnight. He's probably been like this his whole life, but he has most certainly been attacking women for years, at least. She hopes she can save herself, if only to find the others.

She tried, she really did. She tried to keep moving but the paralizing fear of what he will do to her is too much. Her hands will not cooperate with what her brain reluctantly tells them to do. Her anxiety rises with every breath she takes.

"Please, please." She cannot form a coherent sentence. She remembers the last time she froze like this, the last time her brain screamed at her to Do Something but she physically could not. _You little bitch_. She cannot even run this time. _There's no way out_. She will either do what he says, or she will die. It is as simple as that.

"Alright, progress," he mumbles as he yanks the discarded shirt from her grasp. His patience is dissolving with each passing moment. She begins to remove her belt as slowly as she thinks he will allow.

She tears her gaze from the bed to take note of anything she could use in self defense if the opportunity arises. A relatively heavy lamp and a few larger books are really all she has to work with, but it is enough. She has to believe he will make a mistake, however minuscule, and she will take advantage of it the second it happens. _You can do this_. _You've done it before and you sure as hell can do it again_. She is not concerned with legal justice, because there is nothing innocent about this perp. She will kill him without hesitation and it will be ruled self defense. She grasps for her hopes and prayers in her mind, struggling to make them reality.

A knock on the door brings her out of her reverie.

"Fuck." He reaches for her shirt and shoves it into her arms. "Get dressed. You are going to answer the door, and whoever is on the other side is going to leave, whatever you have to say to make that happen. If I sense that you're sending signals, you're gonna have a bullet through your skull so fast that the person won't even have the opportunity to call the cops. And they will be your replacement. Understood?"

She nods, finishes buttoning her blouse, and moves toward the door.

She hears Rollins' voice calling her before she reaches the door, and her mind races as she thinks of something to say. _Goddamnit why don't we have a signal for this._ She knows Lewis's gun is three inches to the right of her head, cocked and ready to be fired as soon as he feels it is necessary.

"You alright, Olivia?"

She opens the door to her slightly inebriated colleague.

"Rollins, are you drunk?"

"Just a little buzzed, but it's wearin' off pretty quick. Is everything okay? Fin had this weird feeling and you weren't answering your phone..."

She doesn't bother to ask where Fin is. All of her energy is going into looking calm and speaking normally, even though her anxiety is through the roof.

_She can't do this she will not cause Rollins' death  
she has to think of something why can't she think  
this is too much this cannot be happening the noise in her mind is too loud and she can't turn it off it's deafening-_

"Liv?" Fin. She closes her eyes in defeat. She can lie to Rollins but she will never be able to convince Fin that she's not having an internal meltdown.

"Everything alright? You didn't answer your phone, and Amanda, um, she thought you were just with Cassidy but we wanted to make sure...Liv? What's wrong?"

She feels the shift in Lewis's energy. He tenses, poised and ready to fire, and she feels rather than hears his unspoken demand. _Last chance. Get rid of them or it's all over._

She is not the fainting type, but exhaustion from the day combined with her skyrocketing anxiety is wreaking havoc on her nerves. She takes a deep breath and speaks again.

"I'm fine, really, Fin. Tell Cragen I'll be in tomorrow morning okay?" _Please_. _Please understand what I'm saying_, her eyes say. _I need you to understand_.

His face reveals his realization. He backs away slowly, taking Rollins with him.

"Alright, Liv. I'll let him know. We'll see you later." She nods and closes the door.

And now here they are. She is fairly certain Fin is going to return with backup, but she knows it will take time. _Just a little longer,_ she consoles herself. _Do not go down without a fight. This nightmare is almost over._

She is lying to herself, of course. Help could come crashing through her door at that moment and there will still be damage. She learned that the hard way after Sealview, after months of therapy and sleepless nights. It is not the experience itself that was necessarily the most traumatizing to her. The flashbacks were horrific, but then she started seeing images of what might have happened. What would have happened if Fin had not saved her. And that is what she sees in her worst nightmares.

It's different this time.

She will fight Lewis with every ounce of strength she has left, but once again, she finds herself relying on Fin to help her. She is not handcuffed now, but she is bound nonetheless by her fear, by his gun. She is pushed back toward her bedroom as lightning cracks across the sky. Thunder rolls as she is shoved onto her bed. Lewis has lost his patience, she thinks, and a storm is coming.

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Okay, folks, that's chapter three. As always, please let me know what you thought. I just want to stress that I did not intend to describe how PTSD feels to a person that is actually suffering from it. I do not have PTSD and never have, and I am truly sorry if I have offended anyone. What I wrote was based on how I interpreted the scenes that were devoted to Olivia's PTSD. Okay, that's all, adios.x


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